Snow has been falling and melting and then falling again in the Blue Mountains. There comes a time when a lot of roads become inaccessible for the winter up there, so we are going as often as we can, while still can. During this time of the year, it feels like we are playing hide and seek with the spirits and creatures of the forest, both seen and unseen.
At home, the weather is warmer, but we are still leaning into fall. Pumpkins are on the porch, leaves swirl up and down the street, flannel sheets and extra blankets are on the beds, candles are lit nightly, and I have taken once again to the rocking chair by the fireplace (where I am now) to read or knit or catch up with online things. I make time to sit on our little front step and gaze at the moon before I go to bed. Most nights we are in bed fairly early, and we are sleeping a little bit later in the morning without loud birdsong or any light coming through the cracks in the blinds. This bothers my husband who is normally a very early riser, but to me it just feels natural to let our bodies ebb and flow with the seasons, the rhythms of the earth. I fully surrender to this slower, darker time of year. What most would probably call an ebb, to me feels like flow.
I’ve been listening to Arvo Pärt and falling under the spell of his music. We are going to a concert next month featuring some of his work and I’m trying to learn all I can. I especially love his more minimal, melancholy work.
Last weekend went to see and hear Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, performed by the Walla Walla Symphony and the Eugene Ballet, right here in our own little town. As soon as the curtain went up I was struggling to keep big tears from spilling over onto my cheeks. It was an overwhelming emotional response, one that I could barely control. Art - its beauty can split you in two. I loved it, and I want more.